The Stages of Grief
by Chloroplast
Summary: On the 23rd of April, Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland died. They'd all seen it coming but it had not made it easier for any of them in the slightest.


**Written for a friend and originally posted on Tumblr.**

**I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers.**

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><p><strong>Stage one: Denial<strong>

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><p>On the 23rd of April, Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland died. They'd all seen it coming but it had not made it easier for any of them in the slightest.<p>

America sat in his office, meticulously filling out the paperwork on his desk when his brother appeared in the doorway; hovering as if unsure how to handle the situation.

"Alfred," he finally said, tightly, as if he was afraid of how America would react. As if he were already tired of dealing with the grief that had struck the world two months earlier. But the grief would last for all eternity. "Alfred, how are you doing?" He held his polar bear to his chest more closely, as if it would give him strength to deal with what was to come.

America looked up and smiled upon seeing his brother. "Mattie! It's great to see you! Hang on a sec, let me just fill out this form and we can go out for coffee and ice cream, 'kay?"

Matthew took the opportunity to look around the room. There was something... off about the room and it took him a while to work out what it was. The wall, previously covered by a Union Flag (_'Hey! Mattie! I'm just done putting it up! It's to symbolise the fiftieth anniversary of my Special Relationship with Arthur! How does it look?_) was completely bare, the emptiness seeming to mock Matthew, reminding him of his loss and the void which could not be filled.

"OK, bro! I'm done! Let's go!"

America's tone and actions were cheerful but Matthew could tell by the way he avoided looking at the blank wall and the slight tension in his shoulders that he was still hurting inside.

"Alfred."

The blue eyed man stopped pulling on his brother's arm and looked at him. "That's my name! Don't wear it out!"

"You're not OK."

There was a flicker of hurt and something else in his eyes before they became unreadable, the feelings submerged by the fake happiness which was all too common in the world. Alfred laughed, but the sound was rather breathy and weak.

"Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be?"

Matthew kept silent as they left the house and pretended that he didn't know why it had suddenly started to rain.

On the day of the world meeting, no one mentioned the empty chair. It had no card at the table, no flag, no sense of identity but everyone knew who it belonged to and no one wanted to be the one to bring up the topic. It was a sore spot after all.

America half fell into the seat next to it and flicked through his notes enthusiastically. He'd prepared the most awesome speech ever on why superheroes were the solution to world poverty and he couldn't wait to see how people would react. He thought it was a pretty good idea to be honest! As he congratulated himself on his resourcefulness and ingenuity, France lowered himself into the seat on the other side of the chair. The caught each other's gaze before, France looked away, an overwhelming sadness present in his eyes. And suddenly Alfred felt a pain in his chest which he tried to ignore.

_("Why do I always end up sitting next to the two of you?! Bloody hell! And I thought I'd have a quiet meeting for once!")_

He tried to persuade himself that he'd just rushed lunch and the pain was just from heartburn and after a few minutes, his breathing slowed and he calmed down enough to look over the notes again. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see familiar green eyes and large eyebrows drawn up into a scowl. His stomach lurched and felt like he was about to throw up but the hair was a dark red which, not (_a beautiful, eye-catching)_ blond.

"America, my lad." Scotland's eyes were so _green_ and reminded America so much of _him_ that he had to look away. "We're here if you want to talk, you know? We all know what it's like."

_No you don't_, a selfish part of him argued, but he quickly beat it down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," America said, flatly. He knew it was the wrong thing to say because Scotland's eyes were suddenly filled with the grief and heartbreak that he would never get over.

"For god's sake, lad. It's time to move on. Just accept it. Arthur wouldn't want to see you like this. This isn't who he raised you to be."

Alfred watched as a single tear trailed down the cheek of the elder nation before dismissively turning his back.

"There was never an Arthur Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland didn't ever exist."

It was on June the second when Alfred could even bear to remember. To even accept that someone called Arthur Kirkland had even existed in the first place. And then began the little quirks which went unnoticed at first. It was only when France and Canada decided to drop round for an impromptu visit that they began to realise how broken the United States of America was.

"Alfred," France began slowly, re-entering the living room from the kitchen. "Why is your fridge filled with old McDonald's food? Some of it is over a week old and really needs to be thrown out."

Alfred looked up in confusion. "It's for Artie. Even though he acts like he hates them, I know that he really likes them."

France opened his mouth before closing his eyes and leaning against the door frame as if he was suddenly very old. "Alfred..."

"Speaking of which, I haven't seen him around recently. He must be really busy that he can't even make time to see the awesome hero or at least answer his phone."

"Alfred!"

The tension in the room was very thick and Matthew moved to place a soothing hand on the Frenchman's arm.

"It's OK, Francis. It hurts for all of us," he murmured. "But, do you not think that... it would be kind just to allow him to mourn in his own way?"

And just like that, France collapsed into the other, leaning against him for support and pulling him into an embrace. "_Mon Dieu_, why... Why did this happen to us? What did we do to deserve this? What did _he_ do to deserve this?" His frame shook with silent sobs and Alfred was becoming unnerved by the scene in front of him.

"Hey, guys! What's going on? You both seem really upset!" His watch beeped and he leapt up from the couch where he was nestled with a bowl of popcorn. "Ah! I almost forgot! It's three o'clock."

And suddenly, the tension was dissolved and in its place was only confusion.

"What are you - "

"It's tea time; Arthur will be here soon. I need to make the tea and put the jam out or he'll get super pissy." Alfred vaulted into the kitchen and France followed him, watching with angry, dead eyes.

_Why does he get to be so happy? Why is he so carefree at a time like this?_

And a selfish part of him wished that Alfred would be able to feel the pain that was tearing him apart into shreds.

"Arthur won't be coming."

Alfred almost dropped the can of whipped cream and his hands shook as he placed it rather firmly on the table.

"What are you talking about? He -"

"Is dead," France continued, expressionlessly. Alfred stood without a word and Matthew crossed the kitchen to his brother.

"Arthur isn't coming because he's not alive."

"Francis - " Canada began, almost threateningly.

"_Oh mon Dieu_, this is not the time to sugar coat it." His gaze remained fixed on the frozen American. "Arthur Kirkland is dead. And he's not coming back. Ever."

"You're wrong." The voice was so quiet and shook so much that Francis thought he had misheard. "You're lying." America pulled away from his brother and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. The jar of jam fell onto the floor and smashed into a million pieces.

He lay on his bed, eyes closed as the dial tone played over and over again. There was a knock on the door.

"Alfred, it's Matthew." When there was no reply, the other shuffled and began to speak again, his voice slightly muffled by the wooden door. "Francis said he's sorry. If you come down later, we can go and watch a film or something together, OK?" There was another moment of silence and the creak of the wooden panels as his brother moved away.

And still he waited for his call to be connected.

"_Hello,_" the voice on the other side of the telephone said and Alfred smiled in relief. He knew that Francis was lying to him! That it was all just an elaborate prank! "_You've reached the phone of Arthur Kirkland. Unfortunately, I'm not here at the moment, so if you like, please leave a message and I'll get back to you later._"

Just like the previous times he'd tried, the voice was replaced by the tinny beep of the answerphone.

For the first time since the 23rd of April, Alfred allowed himself to cry.


End file.
